This was a murderous week…
Some of you may recall that I did go camping with Twinergy and the boys a few weeks back.  I rounded up ALL of the boys – even taking ‘et tu, Brutus’ on our family jaunt into the mountains.  While the Bruttles was excellent company for our travels (…is far less apt to puke all over the good’oleboy drive as the lilEinstein did), we discovered upon our return that we should have left the pup at home defending the fort.  Because whilst we were cooling our nights and lazing away our days, a squatter moved into the Maison.
We forgot to shut the doggie door.
The uninvited guest was mostly unobtrusive as we settled in and got back to work/school/life.  The fast emptying of Brutus’ doggie dish was the first sign of trouble.  Then there was the missing kiddie snackies and reappearing productpackaging found about the house; and poor Brutus became a critter ‘of interest’ in those incidents.  But what started to unnerve me was the little black droppings… a telltale sign that a nastydisgustingffffff****ingrat had moved into my house!
And it ain’t cute like Ratatouille!
We took apart the couches, we moved all the furniture away from the walls and set up traps in Brutus-safe corners, we cleaned and cleaned and bleached and cleaned some more, then we began in earnest, because the monstrosity was getting more brazen with each passing day.  The butter dish was pooped in, night slumber was broken by fussing and squirmishing critters – leaving Brutus with less food than he’d had before, and then the buggar ran right out in front of me as I paid the monthly ebills from the comfort of my living room!
Well that was the final straw.  lilEinstein got out a deviling hallow’s eve mask, his butterfly net and a plastic hammer and was wearing his rainboots – for duty.  Bigshot rushed home from work and got out the sledgehammer, the broom, and a small bucket.
The bucket was too small.
We tried every disinviting tactic we could muster.  As Brutus was cowering in the hallway avoiding another face-down with the beast; the ePrince offered his brawn, but quickly fell asleep after homework, football practice, and cleaning out the contents of the fridge with his metabolism; and the lilEinstein gave up the ghost to boredom and sleepy zzzz’s after the adventure seemed hopeless.
No twitching tail about.
We figured our notsolittle houseguest must’ve gone out the way he came in.  And there I was, blissfully watching House (again; see previous post) and the bugger RAN UNDER MY LEGS as I painted my toenails blue (for the Mustang’s, of course)!  Now the irony here is that I was watching the House-rat episode as this happened to me.  BigShot rushed out of the bedroom at the sound of my screaming wearing only his orange boxers (guess who buys his underwear?)!
The babes slept peacefully throughout the ruckus.
We opened the french doors leading out from the family room onto the back patio.  We put out doggie treats as bribes, and the rotten pest sniffed the open air – breathed in freedom and ran away from the night air and right towards me – while I stood guard to the kitchen with only a broom for defense.  In that splitsecond, BigShot earned his moniker with one blow.  As the rat rushed away from forever and turned towards me – now proving to be the the biggest crybaby in the house – the BigShot quickly landed his rubber sledge to the awful rat’s little head, splattering gookiness all over the floor.

Thank goodness we don’t have carpet!

I tell you it was murder, but we don’t feel bad about it…
murder she wrote
murder she wrote
murder she wrote*

*Macy Gray

a bitchin feminista mama at the intersection of political quagmire and real life.

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